


No Good Deed

by Siberianskys



Category: Supernatural, The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Case Fic, Established Relationship, M/M, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-05
Updated: 2009-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siberianskys/pseuds/Siberianskys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder would have either chuckled, opened an X-File, or both if he could have heard Alex's thoughts, preoccupied as they were with the feeling that something was just--off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good Deed

Bracing his sidearm against his artificial wrist, Krycek moved methodically through Mulder's dusty, cobweb-infested childhood home, efficiently clearing it room by room. He winced as his boot made contact with a loose floorboard, causing a squeak that was deafening in the tomb-like house. Raising his foot, he took a wide, careful step, relief momentarily relaxing his tight features. Mulder would have either chuckled, opened an X-File, or both if he could have heard Alex's thoughts, preoccupied as they were with the feeling that something was just--off. Breathing slow and deep, he stopped every few steps to listen. He'd sat vigil outside the abandoned house for hours. He'd seen the pretty boy with the military haircut leave, return with what looked like diner carry-out, and go out again all within the span of 15 minutes. It made no sense. If the kid was really carving up people for shits and giggles, then why did he take the risk of going out to get his captive lunch? For that matter, why did he trap himself in a sparsely populated island town that didn't even have direct ferry access to the mainland? With brains like that, he should have been in a Supermax cell or a cemetery by now.

Hearing muffled voices coming from above him, he headed toward the staircase. He didn't quite make it to the first step.

***

Waking to both bright winter sunlight pouring in from the windows and a probable concussion, Alex had no idea what had roused him, not that it really mattered. As he slowly got his bearings, hindered by his pounding head and blurry vision, he realized he was sitting up, lashed to a hard, wooden chair. Looking around, he found he was sitting in the living room; the suspect was facing him, seated backwards in a chair identical to his own, apparently waiting for him to wake up.

“So, who the fuck are you?” the kid asked nonchalantly, licking his fingers as he finished the last of what looked like cheese fries or maybe nachos.

He looked a lot more innocuous and sane than he had in the news footage, though history was full of examples of nice, normal looking murderers. If he wasn’t a serial killer, how the hell had he managed to get the drop on him? Alex wondered to himself. Ignoring both his captor's and his own questions, he demanded, “Where is he?”

“Dude, I’m the one asking the questions here. We searched you and all we found were your two pieces, a knife, and some cash. No identification and no credit cards.”

Pained, Alex glared at his captor as the we sank into his still throbbing head.

"My brother asked you nicely, the first time," a menacing voice asked from somewhere out of Alex's line of sight.

"Look, whatever you guys are into is none of my business. I was just casing the joint," Alex said, trying for nonchalance.

"Have it your way," Dean said, climbing off his chair and clapping Alex on his prosthetic biceps as he passed. "Come on, Sammy, let's go have a word with Dr. Kimble," he smirked.

"Damn it, wait," Alex yelled after the two men, his fear for Mulder's safety raising his blood pressure along with the hair on the back of his neck as he struggled with the duct tape holding his arms and legs firmly to the chair. .

***

"Well?" Mulder asked, looking up expectantly from where he sat on the edge of the sofa.

"Here to rob your house my ass," Dean said, slouching against the door jam.

Mulder looked over at Sam, more than a little disturbed by his stiff posture and intense stare. He wondered who'd done the Winchesters' profile for Henrickson, because whoever it was needed to find another line of work. Dean played a good game, but it was Sam who was actually the more dangerous of the two. He could visualize people who'd met them being interviewed and, of course, there would be the requisite erroneous observations, "Dean was always trouble, but Sam was such a good boy." Yeah, right, Mulder thought. He blinked and turned his attention back to Dean, when he realized he was speaking.

"There's no way he's a Fed, not with the--" Dean said knocking on his left arm.

"What?" Mulder asked.

"He has a prosthetic left arm," Sam explained.

"Krycek." Mulder swore, shooting to his feet.

All three men were startled when a loud thunk came from the first floor.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Dean said, running from the room and down the stairs, followed closely by Sam and Mulder.

"Wait," Mulder warned as Dean leaned over Krycek, who was still looked securely taped to the overturned chair.

Dean stepped back and watched as Mulder crouched in front of the prone man. "Krycek?" Mulder asked, carefully reaching out to shake Alex's shoulder. When he didn't respond, Mulder moved his fingers inside the turtleneck's collar to check for a pulse.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder," Alex said opening his unfocused eyes.

Mulder didn't know what to think about the relief he thought he saw shining from them.

***

"A little privacy," Alex said, struggling out of his leather jacket.

"You're kidding, right?" Mulder said.

Letting his jacket fall to the floor, Alex rubbed his eyes between his thumb and forefinger.

"You going to tell me why you followed me here? You did follow me here, Alex," Mulder said, leaning back against the desk.

"You're always being watched; that shouldn't be a surprise at this point," Alex said.

"That's not it," Mulder challenged. "I'm out of the F.B.I. and you're supposed to be dead."

"You didn't look surprised to see me," Alex said, working his prosthetic out of his sweater sleeve, careful not to lose his balance.

"Nothing surprises me when it comes to you, Krycek," Mulder said.

"You knew," Alex said.

"What? That it wasn't you in the garage. I'm not stupid, Alex."

"What are you then?" Alex asked.

"Curious."

Alex made that little crinkle with his nose that drove Mulder crazy.

"Was that a question?" Mulder asked.

"Not that it takes much, but about what?" Alex sighed, his annoyance obvious in his tone and stance.

"Why'd you take the chance? Coming out of whatever hole you'd crawled into."

"You're the profiler; you tell me."

Mulder pushed himself away from the desk and crowded himself into Alex's personal space. He could feel the tension coming off the other man in waves. Threading the fingers of both hands into Alex's hair, he waited for the kiss that he was sure would come.

***

"I do not need to listen to that," Dean complained, spitting toothpaste into the sink.

"Pot, kettle, Dean," Sam said chuckling as he wrapped his arms around his brother's neck, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He held his brother's eyes with his as he bent to kiss his unshaven jaw.

"Fuck," Dean muttered.

"That's the general idea," Sam smiled.

***The End***


End file.
